


Little Jabs

by beingbaz



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beingbaz/pseuds/beingbaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock was still in hiding from his best mate, but that didn't mean he had to get out of shape. He did have potential assassins to kill while he took down the Organization that Jim Built.</p><p>Written for the prompt on the Sherlock BBC Kink Meme: "Sherlock punches someone in the boob. Could be a woman. Or, you know. Mycroft."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Jabs

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All copyrights belong to their respective owners. I make no money from this, and merely wrote it for fun. No beta, all mistakes my own.

Sherlock was still in hiding from his best mate, but that didn't mean he had to get out of shape. He did have potential assassins to kill while he took down the Organization that Jim Built.

"Damn it, Mycroft, pay attention!" the dark haired man panted as he swung out at his older brother. Mycroft clearly wasn't putting his all into this, and that would not do. The other men Sherlock would fight would not be holding back, and the both of them knew it.

Mycroft Holmes dodged backwards, Sherlock's fist barely missing his chin. He knew what was bothering Sherlock, but considered it necessary. There would be those who fought with everything they were, and there would be those who were merely playing. This? Child's play. "It is your mind which is wandering, brother dear."

Mentally, Sherlock cursed, and dodged a blow aimed for his midsection. When they were younger, the two of them sparred often. Of course, sparring was what you called it in polite society. Others would call it what happens when one's younger brother is high as a kite and wanting to finally show who was boss... not that he ever won. Not with the weight Mycroft had on him.

Speaking of which, Sherlock threw a punch, unexpectedly straight at Mycroft's chest, which connected briefly before the older man shoved Sherlock's arm away. The other man cut Sherlock a sharp look. "Did you just mean to hit me in the chest, or was that luck?"

"I was aiming for your breast, yes."

"You and semantics. I would never call it a breast, because I am a man. It's chest, Sherlock." Another set of blows aiming for Sherlock's midsection missed, but only because Mycroft had never intended for them to land.

"It felt too cushy to be a chest to me."

"Why you little!" At that, Mycroft stopped playing around, committing to a series of short jabs that got him in close, and finally getting his arm around Sherlock's neck, pulling him into a headlock. He pressed his knuckles against the top of Sherlock's head roughly, doing his best to ignore Sherlock's elbow making its way into his gut.

Sherlock knew he'd lost, he always had by this point, but that didn't stop the squeal of laughter which pealed out of him, nor did it stop him from trying to wriggle out of his older brother's grasp. Eventually Mycroft gave, and the two stood apart from each other, panting, grins on both their faces.

Mycroft stepped away then, to a mini-fridge which held chilled bottles of spring water, one of which he threw to his younger brother before opening his own and taking a long drink. When he'd had his fill, he capped it, drew his hand over his mouth to wipe away the excess water that had escaped, then pushed up at his fringe. He tossed the empty plastic bottle into the bin as he stepped back onto the mat.

"Another round?" he asked.

Sherlock's bottle soon joined his. "With pleasure. And I'll try not to punch you in the boob this time."

Mycroft chuckled as he shook his head, and the two of them began to spar anew.


End file.
